deal," said Miss Pritchard with a
sigh. "Dear me, when I was at Aunt Ellen's when you were a baby, they
were so worried for fear you should have any Marley traits whatever, so
anxious for you to be all Pritchard!"

"Are you siding with them now?" the girl asked soberly. "Are you
disappointed in me, Cousin Julia?"

"Bless your heart, dear, I'm so satisfied that I'm frightened, and I
think I'll throw my precious ruby ring into the sea. I wish I could
say that I'd like you to be just so far Pritchard as not to have any
desire for the stage; but I somehow don't dare even say that. You see,
I couldn't risk losing any particle of Marley other than the
stage-madness."

Elsie came to her side and kissed her warmly.

"Then suppose we chuck the Pritchards for good," she proposed.

Miss Pritchard fairly gasped. Such temerity took her breath. But she
didn't give expression to her amazement. Already she had come to the
conclusion that Elsie had not been happy at home; she who was so frank
in all else was so brief and guarded in all her references to the
family or her home life. Now it seemed as if she must have been
exceedingly unhappy, to be ready to renounce the Pritchards in that
wholesale way. And yet, how could any girl whose life had not been
happy--nay, brimming with sunshine--be so gay and blithe and girlish
and care-free as she? Could the reaction from strict repression
possibly have that effect? Could the opportunity to realize her
ambition work such a miracle? Miss Pritchard shook her head. It was
beyond her, she confessed.

"Now you're down, you may as well do your stunt and have it over,
Elsie," she remarked. And Elsie, standing back a little, repeated the
performance in a manner that was only the more captivating.

Then, resuming her seat on the railing, she looked eagerly toward Miss
Pritchard. The face of the latter was a study. With every line, every
word, indeed, of the simple song, the actress in the girl had come out
strongly. Admiration of the grace and skill and charm of it all, and
wonder at the extraordinary sweetness of the girl's voice, mingled with
regret at the significance of it.

"Do you know what you look like, Cousin Julia?" Elsie asked.

"No, my saucy Marley, I do not."

"Like 'Heaven only knows'"--the girl heaved a tremendous
sigh--"'whatever will become of the naughty Brier-Rose.'"

"My dear, if you exhibit that sort of keenness," said Miss Pritchard,
laughing, "I'll